


Kisses in Suffering

by bellinibeignet



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Superhusbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:44:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellinibeignet/pseuds/bellinibeignet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is an alcoholic, and Steve loves him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kisses in Suffering

**Author's Note:**

> A short I did on tumblr for the prompt "kiss me like you mean it." I've expanded it a bit. it can be read in a number of ways: 616 or MCU, canon world or alternative universe. I've left a lot of details open for the most part.
> 
> I based it on the reality that I know and have experienced with alcohol abuse from friends and my own muse, and also what I see in Steve and Tony's personalities/experiences. It isn't meant to be romantic or light. There's nothing all that beautiful about it, really. I just... wanted to write something that felt true. So yeah.

**I.**

Steve was never the sort of man to tolerate that which he didn’t believe in, and yet, he willingly entered the most intimate spaces of Tony’s life, wanting. The gravity of his heartbeat skipping whenever Tony was around weighed heavier than the demons of Tony's disease. That was a truth he had to grapple with from the very beginning.

He hated Tony’s self-deprecation and mask of arrogance. He hated being lied to, and Tony was a master at that, to be certain. He hated the bottles of liquor in every small crevice of his penthouse, even though a rule of A.A. was to get rid of everything toxic and tempting. Any moment that Steve had alone in the penthouse, he spent it searching for spots where Tony might’ve hidden even an ounce of liquor, and that was a true mark of Steve's love, wasn't it? In his heart, he wanted to trust Tony, wanted to believe that he was making a true effort to be better, but alas, Steve's instincts - the skepticism he had to bear when loving someone so broken - were always right. He'd find a flask, a bottle, a single-serve. And, just when he thought he had found them all, he would be proven quite wrong. 

This was not the first time something like this has happened. Tony would miss a dinner date, then wouldn’t answer his phone to a single soul for days, causing a panic every time, leaving Steve or Bruce or Pepper to come knocking for hours on end. (Eventually, Steve was given access to J.A.R.V.I.S.'s keyless entry - a long night of sexual convincing on his part - and it saved them all quite a bit of trouble, but that took quite a while to accomplish.)

When Tony finally opened the door, he’d be standing there in boxer shorts, cheeks unshaven, reeking of alcohol and stink and self-hate, eyes red from tears and sleeplessness, and a bottle of whiskey would be hanging in deft hands. He’d be fighting for balance, his voice would be scratchy - most likely from screaming at himself or the ghost of his father - and he’d have the true smile of inebriated thoughts.

Lately, neither Bruce nor Pepper had assisted Steve in these rescue missions. Steve didn't blame them for a second; he could only guess how many horror stories they had between them before he came along to take part in the rodeo. Pepper had lost patience months ago, and Bruce was too disappointed in Tony's behavior lately to even look at him. Both were very tired, at a loss. They said that Steve was better for the job. Tony would listen to him. Tony was just a bit weaker for him.

Perhaps the truth was that Steve was a bit weaker on Tony than anyone else. Strong in his will, but weak in his knees, to put it romantically.

Whenever Steve found Tony inside the Malibu house, he'd take just a few seconds to look at him in his awful state, and then shake his anguish away. He would nurse him through the night, refusing to berate him or tell him what he truly thought of this mess. He’d give him a lukewarm bath and put him into comfortable layers of clothes, then push him into bed, making him take a few aspirin and drink loads of water until he fell asleep.

Steve would lay next to him, listening to the harshness of his breathing, fingering along the inside of his wrist to gauge his pulse, curving in beside him just to be close, kissing the back of his neck and whispering how wonderfully made he was.

When Tony woke up, he'd find Steve wrapped around him, and he'd turn around, kiss him awake, and say - like clockwork - "This the last time. I promise. I'll stop."

 

**II.**

The first time, it scared the hell out of Steve. They weren’t dating then, and maybe that was what scared him most of all - finding that he was so willing to stand beside someone he had very little obligation to. He stood aside and let Bruce take the reigns, expertly getting Tony cleaned up and put into bed, a routine that Steve would eventually have memorized and perfected. Still, at the time, it made Steve go silent. He'd known that Tony liked to drink, and yes, he'd certainly heard rumors, but he hadn't allowed them to gain traction in his mind. He was too busy dwelling in the fantasy of absolute goodness, the possibility of Tony's greatness outweighing any apparent flaws.

Bruce let him in on the reality, calling Steve and saying, "I understand if you don't want to, but... You told me he was supposed to meet you yesterday and he was a no-show, and I called and he didn't answer, so I think maybe he's on a binge."

"A binge?"

"I'm on my way to pick you up."

Steve didn't ask questions on the drive, and Bruce offered nothing.

The fantasy came to ruins when they got to Tony's doorstep and Steve had to watch Bruce pound on the door and scream through it, until Tony answered an hour later.

"Friends!" he'd laughed, spreading his arms in welcome. "Why didn't you just let yourselves in? Join the party, yeah?"

Steve stood by, watching as Bruce took Tony inside and wrestled the liquor from his hand, then showered and dressed him like a child. Steve realized that this was a recurring theme in Bruce's relationship with Tony, and maybe Steve could foresee it becoming a pattern in his own.

When they were in the kitchen alone, Tony tucked into bed, Bruce offered Steve a glass of water.

"You seem shaken up," Bruce said, eying Steve's hands tucked in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Steve took the water. "Yeah, I - I guess I didn't know. I didn't know he was that bad."

"Of course you knew. You just didn't want to see it." Bruce smirked. "The things we do for love, eh?"

 

 

**III.**

It happened again a second time not long later.

The third time, they’d been dating exclusively for three months, and Steve had fallen into the relationship under the condition that Tony enter Alcoholics Anonymous and  _try_ \- which he did. Steve was happy for it, to say the very least. Somehow, even knowing Tony's disposition, he craved him more and more as days went by. Still, he couldn't let himself commit without some sort of barrier, if not for his own sake, then as an incentive to Tony getting better.

Perhaps Steve underestimated the power of Tony's suffering. Perhaps Bruce was right: he was more willing to be blind in love than to face the true consequence of loving an alcoholic.

The weight that their compromise had fooled Steve in the beginning. He thought he was seeing success, new life in Tony. Steve would later say he was childish and primrosed to believe Tony would actually become better just because they were dating. Steve would take the blame for his own willful ignorance.

This is the truth:

It was easy for Tony to be sober at the beginning of their relationship, inspired by Steve, fulfilled by his newness. No doubt, Steve was as beautiful of a goal as Tony had ever set. Steve Rogers was so honest and - for some reason - loved Tony in return. It wasn't harsh to be rid of liquor when Steve caused the same sort of distracting burn, the same spiced touch and feverish commitment. For once, there was brightness to overtake the shadows of Tony’s dreary mind. The high of the early stages was enough to make him want Steve to be happy, even if that meant suffering through A.A. and carrying around that little metal coin to mark his milestones.

But just as the newness of their relationship faded, so did the naive denial of his depression. Loving Steve had deafened the reality of not loving himself, but it was never meant to last very long. Steve was beautiful, but Tony was toxic to his core, a place where Steve had yet to reach. Tony needed him, but didn't fear him. Tony wanted him, but knew he didn't deserve him. Those were the realities that he started to wake up to. No matter how Tony spread himself open to let Steve in, just hoping that he could be healed if he opened wide enough, the dullness of his existence was still there, reappearing like an old grey skin as the months grew on and their relationship fell off the cliff of the honeymoon.

And so, the third time Tony went on a binge, Steve didn’t have the words to say. He felt guilt in his chest for believing that it was so simple, that he could waltz into such a befallen life and cure it just by existing and believing. That was his righteousness, his curse.

Coincidentally, that third time was the first time neither Bruce nor Pepper answered the call to get Tony back on his feet. It was a text from Steve. _Tony. Whiskey 9-1-1._ Somehow, even as he sent the message, he knew they wouldn't answer. They deserved not to, really. Maybe the stars had aligned that way for a reason. Maybe Steve needed to know the burden on his own. He needed to know the kind of man he was in love with.

He was silent as he brought Tony back to health. Alone.

It was the same the fourth time.

The fifth time was about a month and a half ago - Tony’s usual length of sobriety. The morning after the cleanup, Steve had suggested that they move in together. Maybe he could stop him the next time he had a binge. Maybe it would rekindle the flame that had made him so sober in the first place. 

Tony told him no. “I want you to live with me because you want to, not because you think I can’t take care of myself.”

That was how the strain of their relationship began. More bickering disagreements. More subtle loathing. Steve didn’t believe that Tony wanted to stop drinking, which - to Tony - often sounded like Steve didn't believe in him at all, and that was only a feather on the pile, because Tony didn’t believe in himself to begin with and only expected Steve to finally see the truth of their dancing. It was a dizzying confirmation for Tony to look at Steve and find growing discontent and distrust swimming in the electric blue of his eyes, to find wariness in his fingertips anytime they got close. Steve had gone from the martyr who tried to kiss him and love him into sobriety, to the impatient and scorned lover, a time-bomb just ready to give up.

Any day now, Tony expected Steve to leave him, but, see... Giving up had never quite been in Steve's repertoire. 

 

**IV.**

Steve found Tony in the living room, wrapped in a thin blanket, laying in his back and singing unintelligible lyrics toward the sky; the moonroof was open, and while it was a beautiful spring evening, it was far too chilly for Tony to be down to his underwear.

The stench of bourbon and filth made Steve put his hand over his mouth to gain composure. This was what he'd subjected himself to: an ailed billionaire with no sense of self-worth if Jack Daniels had anything to say about it.

When he gained his resolve, he went and stood over Tony, making his presence known, and Tony's eyes went wide like a child's when playing peek-a-boo, innocent and thrilled. "You came! Hello!"

Steve bit down on the skin at the inside of his jaw, sliding out of his jacket and tossing it in a corner. "Save it." He lifted Tony by the pits of his arms to make him stand, and Tony twisted his weight so that he could face Steve and smile at him. Steve held his breath against the odor of must and bad food and liquor. "You smell awful," Steve told him, but Tony didn't hear, still trying to gain affections from Steve by rubbing his hands over his shoulders and chest.

Steve forced Tony to turn around, and the spin was too much, making Tony topple over like he was a novice at walking. Steve thought that a toddler would do a better job. 

"Seriously, Tony," Steve muttered, standing him up and keeping his hands on either of his hips, guiding him back to the master suite. It took a whole of five minutes to get him there, as Tony kept pausing and falling back into Steve's body, whining about how cold he was and why it had taken Steve so long to come for him. 

Steve just pushed him along until they were in the bathroom, and there, Steve shoved Tony down into the shower. Tony landed hard and moaned at the pain.

"Take your boxers off," Steve told him.

Tony laughed, and it stoked the fire of Steve's inner-outrage. 

Steve entered the shower and dropped down to his knees, yanking at Tony's underwear, but Tony fought against him, wanting to play a game. Twice, Steve failed, and then he looked into Tony's eyes and tried a softer approach. "Please let me?"

"I'm comfortable like this."

"Stark..."

When Tony reached up to stroke his cheek, Steve cowered and grabbed his wrists tight, shaking him. "Tony, stop. You have to fucking _stop_."

Tony pouted, pushing Steve's hands away so he could wrap his blanket around himself. “Be nice to me. I'm in pain." He curled into the corner of the brown marble as if he were comfortable enough to take a nap. Tony could virtually fall asleep anywhere, and Steve considered himself lucky that he only made habit of passing out drunk in his own home as opposed to in the alley behind a bar. Tony Stark couldn't afford to be the headline of anymore gossip rags.

Steve got out of the shower and turned it on, levering the temperature to the absolute lowest, aimed at Tony's face, dowsing him, blanket and boxers and all.

Tony yelled out, shocked by the cold, and he tried to crawl out of the shower.

Steve shoved him back in and shut the steam-door between them. He stood there with his arms folded across his chest. "You wanna get out? Stand up and take a shower. We're not leaving until you do."

Tony didn't. He sat there in the cold, whining that Steve treated him like shit, that this was unfair, and Steve said nothing, peering into the door with a stoic face and a frazzled mind. As cold as Tony already was, he'd surely get sick if he sat under the water for too long, and maybe he knew that. He could be as belligerent as he was melancholic, although he'd never been so stubborn before.  

Steve didn't like the heat of his  frustration testing him. So, he let it out. "For Christ's sake, Tony, get up! You're acting like a fucking child!"   

Tony didn't move except for to hug himself tighter, letting the icy shower do its bidding. He was shuddering all over, and as he held tight to the blanket, Steve imagined that he couldn't feel his fingertips.

"Fine." Steve opened the door and turned the shower off with too much strength. "Do what you fucking want to do."

Steve sat down on the toilet seat and buried his face in his hands, breathing in deep to calm his nerves. Anger was heavy in his chest and anguish was gripping at the back of his throat. He looked over at Tony and found him struggling to crawl out of the shower, shivering, leaving the blanket behind. 

"You’re such a piece of shit,” Steve muttered, and he hated how the words came out like it was a relief to say it. He'd kept those words in the back of his head, knowing that he didn't truly believe it, and it would only cause Tony more damage to say them, but he couldn't bite his tongue. He hated feeling this way. He hated thinking of Tony as a broken and lesser man, but it was so easy these days. So unavoidable. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Tony started stuttering, shivering, crawling on all fours until he was perched between Steve’s knees. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I’m sorry. I-I want to do better, I just- come here.” He took Steve’s cheeks in his hands and forced eye contact. Steve’s blue eyes were dilated to darkness – just as Tony’s were, but for different reason – and his blond brows were scrunched in his resentment.

Tony brought their mouths together, holding on tight, and Steve held his breath, not returning the affection, even though his heart threatened to jump from his chest as it always did.

Tony pulled back, his expression a pout of confusion. “C’mon, Steve. Kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it.”

Steve's nose flared. He couldn't fight his disgust. “You taste like a distillery and you look like hell. I don’t want to kiss you like this. I don’t want to love you like this.”

Tony stared like he wanted to beg for something, but he seemed to decide against it. He groaned and stood up. “Fucking let yourself out,” he said, heading for the door. In the time that it took him to try unlocking it, Steve made his way over, taking him by his shoulders and turning him so they were face to face.

“Don’t you hear me, Tony? Don’t you see that I’m moments from ending all of this? I can’t watch you – fuck, Tony – I don't know how anymore. I can’t watch you do this to yourself. I’m this close to driving you to rehab myself.”

“I wouldn’t sign the papers,” Tony muttered, or maybe snarled. Steve couldn't tell from his slurring words, but it didn't matter. To hear him so adamantly opposed made Steve's resolve crumble away, second by second.

"I want you to get better," Steve whispered. "I want you to _be_ better. I want to help, but you - you won't let me, and that drives me up the wall."

Tony pushed him away with a bored groan. “Fuck you. I was  _fine_ before you came along.”

“You call being in a constant state of booze and belligerence ‘fine’?”

“Yes! Yes I do. Because I didn’t give a  _shit_ about myself then. Now I have to live up to your almighty Captainness, and I – you know what? – it is too much goddamn work. I don’t need anymore pressure, thank you very fucking much.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“And you just said yourself you don’t want to love me like this! So why are you here? This is who I am. The guy you love is a fucking façade, so either get with it or get out.”

Tony started to try the lock again, but Steve turned him back, this time pinning him to the door and not letting him out of his grip. “Stop it. I’m not letting you go. Fucking  _stop moving, Tony_.”

“This is a waste of time. All of it. You don’t give a shit”

It took mastery and great will for Steve not to hit him for saying that. It took everything to keep his voice calm and clear. “I don’t give a shit? Is that why I’m here? Is that why I get scared when you don’t call or answer the door? One day, I’m afraid I’ll come over here and find you dead. I’ll be damned if I don’t get to save you.”

“I don’t want to be saved.”

“Well, you’d better fucking start, because I can’t leave you." He breathed in and stepped closer. "I don't _want_ to love you like this, is what I said, but that doesn't mean I don't love you at all. It doesn't mean I can just turn it off. I’m watching you deteriorate, and even though I want to look in the opposite direction, I can't because that is what you do when you love someone. You try. And I'm trying and it fucking  _hurts_. And you're _letting_ me hurt and I'm taking it and -  _fuck_!”

Steve let him go and stepped back back back until he hit the counter of the sink. He hadn’t expected to feel the rush of emotion in his chest, but there it was: heavy and pulled taut, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He'd shouted the mantra of a fool in love, confessed that he would willingly suffer at Tony's hand. That made him weak. There was nothing romantic or endearing about that. He was letting himself be beaten. He wasn't giving Tony a single incentive to change. He'd just told him that he was chained to him, and willingly so. He was enslaved to whatever harshness Tony subjected him to.

When Tony came up against him, he was doe-eyed and dripping wet, shivering from the cold, and this time, when he slipped a hand to Steve's cheek, Steve sank into it for a moment, shutting his eyes and letting his body bask in the connection, however freezing and painful it was.

“Jesus Christ, Tony,” Steve moaned, his voice shaky and small, forcing Tony to listen. “Why won’t you let me be a hero? Just once.”

Tony swallowed, loud. Steve knew that his throat was going dry, cotton mouth setting in. His skin looked dry as well, and his eyes were swollen and heavy. This was the very dark and stubbly other half of the handsome man he’d once fallen for. It was almost like looking at a caricature, except he was very real, standing there with his belly pressed to Steve's, barely keeping balance.

Steve kissed him, and the taste of him was in no way bearable, but he thought of their first kiss in a parking lot, leaning against Tony’s Roadster and holding one another close. He thought of how his mouth tasted like the cinnamon from his coffee and the mint of his candy. He thought of how gentle it had been, and how his chest swelled with so much delight that it made him laugh, and Tony laughed too, perhaps feeling the same way. 

Somewhere underneath all of Tony's grime and disease, he could taste the sweetness and the passion they once had. He felt it on the buds of Tony's tongue and in his cold fingertips and in his leaning and drunken weight. 

When Steve pulled back, he took Tony's face in his hands and gave him the most honest stare he could muster. "I will love you in every form when you let me, but I can't watch you fade into someone I don't want to love. Don't make me do that. I deserve the man that I know you want to be, and you deserve me, too. It is far time you started believing in something, and I think you should start by believing in that. Believe in yourself. Believe in all that I know you to be. Christ, don't let me be righteous alone."

Tony was still drunk, but Steve could see the words setting in. 

He didn't push him to reply. "Let me get you a shower so you can go to bed."

Tony held a hand up, and he whispered, "No, no. I- I can do it. I got it."

Still, Steve led him over to the shower so that he didn't fall over, and after making sure that Tony had his balance, he went to find him clothes and aspirin. During that search, he found a photo frame laying face-down in the kitchen. It was an old photo of Howard in his lab, and he didn't look the least bit affectionate. 

Steve stared at the photo under the smashed glass. "I'm going to fix what you fucked up. One way or another."

When he got back to the bathroom, Tony was already drying himself off, still shivering. Steve helped him, and then got him into thick socks and sweatpants, and a t-shirt and hoodie. When he was standing upright, he found Tony looking at him with a sort of questioning that he never gave Bruce when it was his job to do this. 

Before he could speak up, Steve shook his head. "I'm here."

 

**V.**

Steve curled himself around Tony to keep him warm, and they fell asleep in the darkness, hands woven together, Steve breathing open-mouthed at the base of Tony's neck just to add to the heat, just so that Tony knew he was there.

Somewhere in the late hour between one dream and another, Tony was whispering Steve's name, waking him. 

Drowsy, Steve opened his eyes, and they were still under the comforter, dark. He couldn't see Tony's face, but he could feel his breath. They were close, nearly nose to nose.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, reaching out to find Tony's hip and pull him in.

Tony's hand did the same. "I'm sorry."

"Don't."

"No. I am. I am sorry. In many senses of the word, but for right now... I'm sorry I've put you through all of this. You don't deserve it, and I - maybe I expected you to leave when you realized what a piece of shit I can be. I've had it happen again and again - people come in and think that they can fix me because they love me and I love them, but when that doesn't happen, they leave, but you...

"I can't promise you everything is going to change by tomorrow or next month, but I'm going to try... Not for you, but for me. I realized a long time ago I can't just change because someone else wants me to. I'd have to change for  _me_. And... you make me happy. I love you more than myself, and that isn't admirable or beautiful. That's sad. You don't deserve someone sad. You deserve ... hell, you deserve everything, Steve, and if I'm making you suffer, then I'm not making you happy, and that means I can't be happy, which is kind of a conundrum when you think about -"

Steve finally hushed him when he realized how scattered the almost-sober revelation was becoming. Still, it made him smile, made his chest go knotty.

"I'm moving in," Steve told him.

"Okay."

"And I'm going to your AA meetings with you."

"Okay."

"And if this happens again -"

"Which it more than likely will... if we're going to be honest with one another about this..."

Steve swallowed, nodding toward the darkness and squeezing the hip in his hand. "Well, if it happens... you'll go to rehab."

"Okay."

There's silence beneath the blanket before Tony goes in for a kiss, and Steve pulls him in tight, enjoying the sweetness, believing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Not an easy one to write, really. I'd be interested in whether you think Tony really is going to 'change'...


End file.
